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That time I smelled a hand that touch Ricky Butler/Edgar Frog & brushed against Paddy off Emmerdale in the line for tea

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Some weeks ago my friend asked me if I was up for attending a horror film convention in a disused steel mill in Sheffield so we could bother Corey Feldman.

Sold!

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We then discovered, having bought our tickets, that it was an extra £35 for a photo opportunity with the man himself.

Fuck that!

After getting the hump about it briefly, we decided to go anyway and just try and get some photos when he did the Q&A session and just get Allie to photoshop us into it with him.

A last minute idea that we ought to put more effort into our wardrobe than my Frog Brothers hoodie resulted in this…  apologies to any of the neighbours who saw this parked outside this morning.

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Bman did warn me that given the potential demographic of this type of event, we might attract the unwanted attentions of geeks.  I assured him that these guys would be too busy creaming their pants over horror movie props and the various other film franchise celebrities in attendance to be bothered about us.  I was only partly right…
…the coconut shy (shrunken head shy) man just let us go to town with the balls to throw to try and win a creepy toy.  No shrunken heads were knocked from their perches but he let us take a toy anyway.

Hostage child dolly… nice.

 

 

We wandered about a bit and had people jump out on us a lot. One of whom only didn’t get their mask punched off their face because they were clearly a young child.  After a further wander, we found the main hall which contained a plethora of horror related collectors tat to buy.
After some deliberation, I opted for a mini Audrey plant, although I was sorely tempted to get a hand-stitched voodoo doll with pins, or a replica mummified Rasputin’s penis.  One of those I can easily cobble together at home with some old material and my trusty sewing box. I’ll let you decide which one you think I mean.

Snaps to the man at http://www.digbynevermoor.com who got our obscure League of Gentleman quote and joined in.

Best overheard conversation of the day was a father to his young daughter “What is it you’d like to buy?” Daughter replied “A pug in formaldehyde” To which I turned around and said “Well who doesn’t want one of those?”

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Feed me Seymour!

I’ve been singing “Suddenly Seymour” all day since I bought this baby.

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Touch it! Touch the mummified penis

 

Trussed up fetish Barbie.  Boob implant Barbie. Severed digits chess set.  Cabbage patch skeleton. Was also tempted by the skeletal mermaid of course but it was a bit big.

 

 

Some people had gone to a lot of trouble with the old costumes.  Possibly a little too much time on their hands but worth it for some selfies.

 

 

 

 

The scariest part of the day for me was when we’d asked some scary boiler suit zombie Michael Myers type for directions and he sent us the wrong way.  On the way back past him, my friend told him off for sending us the wrong way. We saw him again a bit later and she poked him on the shoulder and then ran off, leaving me to face him.  I ran away and he chased us down the corridor. We did the dumbest thing ever and ran into the ladies loos – thus leaving us trapped.  I feared he would be waiting outside for us, machete raised above his head.  We left it five minutes before sneaking out.  Luckily he had gone to find someone else to butcher so we were ok.
In fact, there was a worrying amount of weaponry there.  Annie Wilkes with her sledgehammer (“You dirty bird”). Machetes, axes, acetylene torches, nail guns, etc.  So many masked people.  They could have been anyone.  We could have been attacked at any point by a psychotic lunatic who had  ‘el-snappoed’ after mowing one too many lawns, and we would have just thought it was part of the show and filmed it or got a selfie.

Truth be told, we perhaps should have paid more attention to the rules (“Gav”) before we decided to stake out the adjacent (empty) queueing area to Corey in our persistent efforts to obtain the perfect free photo op.

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To be fair, it doesn’t say you weren’t supposed to fall about laughing like morons and take a buttload of mostly useless photos.  Nor does it say that you’re not supposed to obstruct another ‘guests’ autograph line even though we were actually the only people in it.  Some poor fucker from American Horror Story amongst other things was sat there, pen in hand, with a grand total of nobody, waiting to get their merch signed.  No doubt cursing inside that he had been put “next to that gobby kid from the fucking Goonies” while two crazy bitches who make those mad old women waving union jacks outside Windsor Castle and creaming themselves over Prince Harry’s baby, look like absolutely normal pillars of the community.

At several points whilst signing other people’s things (an extra £35 to sign stuff) the man looked up – clearly distracted by our mirth and envious of the fact that here were two pals unperturbed by the fact that that they were making a holy show of themselves in a giant hall full of people in the close presence of a Hollywood celebrity.

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See – he’s looking right at me – he wants IN on this fun

 

This is probably my favourite picture of the day and he’s not even in it,  If ever a photo summed up an average conversation between us two, then this is it.  It could only have been improved if cardigan man wasn’t in the way of Corey and his Smooth Criminal hat.

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This is why my eyes are so creasy – too much laughter

I can’t even remember why we were in hysterics.  Possibly because Linda had just told me off for taking about eleventy blurry photos of nothing because she kept telling me off for moving the camera.

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This is me saying “stop yelling at me” & Linda saying “I’m not!”

Another comedy moment, later on, was when I was looking for Pennywise the clown and Linda suddenly grabs me and says, “Dead ahead dead ahead”.  I’m looking about gormlessly for someone dressed as a clown and she’s hissing at me, “There! There! in front of you!”  I’m still staring about like a dolt going, “What? Where am I looking?” and eventually I realized she meant this…

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This is not a waxwork

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No, that isn’t Bman next to him

Linda, ever the opportunist, inveigled her way to him to ask if he would sign her pot (she recently knackered her arm falling over). He was very polite about it but said he wasn’t allowed to. But he did shake her (other) hand.

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The hand that shook Corey’s

She said his hand was very soft “from all the drugs maybe? (allegedly)” assuming I suspect that Hollywood = must have indulged at some point.  But I’m not sure if she knows how drugs work. Unless the man was snorting lines of Nivea back in his misspent youth.  Hands that do narcotics are as soft as your face and all that.
I sniffed her hand afterwards, so I’ve smelled a hand that has touched a Frog Brother.

We then went and had a brew to calm down and compose ourselves before we went to the Q&A session.  I was stood behind Paddy from Emmerdale in the queue for tea. At least I think I was. I’ve tweeted him to ask if he was there but funnily enough, he hasn’t replied.

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That day we ‘met’ Corey Feldman in Sheffield

I honestly haven’t laughed so much in ages for no real reason. I’m pretty sure when Corey clocked us doubled over in pleats, pissing our pants, he was put in mind of the good old days with his shits and giggles with his old pal Corey Haim.

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Neither of these are Will Wheaton

He is more than welcome to join our little clique, as long as he knows his League from his Inside No.9 and his Fast Show from his Fonejacker. Fuck it! Paddy off Emmerdale can come out with us too, He looks like a man who enjoys a good craic.

So mostly my future now lies in creating horror and gore themed dolls and weird shit like mummified (ethically sourced) animals in ghoulish tableaus so I can have a stall there myself next year.

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Smothering Sunday

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It’s Mothers’ Day motherfuckers. Hope all the mamas out there got the requisite bunches of tulips, chrysanths (“such serviceable flowers” – film quote fans) and other mum type gifts.

I hosted afternoon tea Chez Moi, which was very nice. Fab to see the Fam and the lovely neicelings as per.  I now feel full of quiche, egg sandwiches and cupcakes and feel a teensy bit fat. 

 

I’m currently having a whiskey because I CBA to go the shed to get tonic for a G&T and am contemplating whether or not it would be indecent on this mothering of all Sundays to have a cheeky banger on the back step*

Friend asked me this week if I wanted to go to HorrorCon in Sheffield next month.  “Not particularly” says I. Thinking it will be chock full of obsessive nutters in fancy dress.
“Corey Feldman is a special guest doing meet and greets” she says. Hold the fucking phone! This changes things.  
Corey “Hey Lamo get off my lawn” Feldman of The Burbs fame – only the film I have probably seen more than any other.
I am sure he will actually be in attendance based on his starring role as a Frog Brother in The Lost Boys though.

So obviously we bought tickets and I’m going to get him to Sharpie “No Tanlines – nice!” on my buttcheeks. He looks like the kind of dude who would be up for that.

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So it looks like we will be part of the obsessive nutters and will doubtless blend in seamlessly. I can wear my Frog Brothers hooded top and get him to sign that too.

Corey mate, if you’re reading this – you have been warned. We’re coming for you neighbour.

Ciao Ciao Xx

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*not a northern euphemism for some kind of sexual back door situation, just to clarify.